


Pledge

by Luka



Series: We're a Team [18]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 18:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Owen makes a promise to George as they prepare for one of the biggest matches of their lives – the World Cup semi-final against New Zealand.





	Pledge

**Author's Note:**

> Is everyone else as tense as I am? My nerves have been shredded all week! Go, England! Go, Faz and Fordy!
> 
> As usual, here's a reminder than this is fiction - my over-fertile imagination should tell you that! And here's a warning for lots of swearing. And angst. A lot of angst!

The first thing George did when Owen handed him his phone back was to change the passcode. They’d always known each other’s log-ins for phones and social media. Now, though … What Owen had done had put a huge dent in the unfailing trust between them. And George feared that it would take a while to repair.

***

George had just got back from a couple of hours wandering around Yokohama with Ben and Jonny when Cips FaceTimed him. Ben, who seemed to have an unerring ability for knowing when George was in a bad place, had brooked no disagreement and said there was no fucking way he was moping around the hotel and that he was coming out for lunch with them. George didn’t have the energy to argue – and he knew that if he did, it would get Jonny agitated. 

It was obviously early morning in the UK, and Cips looked like he was getting ready to go to training. He greeted George cheerfully – and then gave him a succinct summary of what he’d said to Owen. 

“I’ll understand if you want to back off and if I’ve put you in a difficult position. But he pissed me off when he answered your phone and I said some things I probably shouldn’t have done. I dunno. Things have never been great between me and Faz. Maybe it was time for some straight-talking …”

“So to speak,” said George, trying to sound light-hearted. He should by rights be livid with Cips, and he did wish the guy had kept his mouth shut, but he also suspected that Owen hadn’t helped the situation. And George was still furious with Owen for erasing all trace of the phonecall.

Cips laughed. “I promise I’ll play the diplomat in future. To put Faz’s mind at rest, my intentions towards you are entirely honourable! You’re a cute lad and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, especially given my past history. I genuinely want us to be friends.”

“Me too,” said George automatically. 

“Good. Listen, I’d better shift. Training’s in an hour and I’m still at home. Talk to you soon, buddy.”

George looked at himself in the mirror. Cips had called him cute, but all George could see was an over-serious face, worry lines, deep-set eyes and an off-centre prominent nose. He’d never much thought about his looks before. Jonny had ripped the piss out of him in the video where the grannies had wanted to take him home with them. But he’d hardly had would-be suitors queuing up in the past. He was just, well, ordinary … He’d never really thought about it before, but he wondered what it would be like to be as good-looking as Maro and Henry, and whether people treated you differently.

He and Owen had only ever slept with each other. He’d always thought their sex life was good. But he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like with someone else - Cips, with his soulful dark eyes and lithe body. Shit, this had to stop now.

***

George thought later that ironically, a World Cup was a great way to bury private crap. Focusing on the intensity of training for one of the biggest games of his life gave him no time to dwell on anything but ensuring Eddie couldn’t ignore him again. He and Owen blended together as if nothing was out of the ordinary between them.

But they both acknowledged wordlessly that they needed some space off the pitch. So George decided he’d spend the afternoon’s downtime in his room watching some rugby league, and then making more notes on the All Blacks’ pool matches. But when he passed the open door of the team room and saw Tom Curry fruitlessly trying to persuade people to go to a cat cafe with him, he took pity on the lad.

Tom and his kamikaze kid partner in crime Sam were undeniably eccentric, which was why they were the butt of so many jokes. He’d lasted one night rooming with George - his sleepwalking and trying to knock the TV over had meant he got moved out quickly. Conversations with him were nearly as bizarre as those with Jonny.

“I’ll come with you,” said George without thinking.

The lad beamed at him. “Fordy, that’s brilliant! We’ll have a great time.”

Tom made him feel very old, even though there were only five years between them in age. He chatted almost non-stop, which saved George the stress of having to make conversation. And once they got to the cafe, he was like a kid, letting the cats clamber over him and making a fuss of each one.

George, who preferred dogs, got them coffee and settled down in a corner. Watching Tom’s child-like enjoyment of the place, though, made him pleased he’d made the effort to accompany the lad.

Eventually Tom joined him and drank his now-cold coffee in one gulp before going to get them refills. He then told George in great detail about his cats at home and how he shared a house with his twin brother Ben.

“When did you realise you were gay?” The change of direction came out of nowhere.

George shrugged. “I’ve always known.”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“When did you tell your parents?”

“My mum guessed and asked me outright when I was about 13 or 14.”

“Was she OK about it?”

“Fine. She guessed because Owen and I spent so much time together.”

“How old were you when you first slept together?” The lad’s filter was even lousier than Jonny’s, and that was saying something.

“Sixteen.”

“Do you, you know …? Or does Faz …?”

“Mate, not everyone likes being asked intimate personal questions …”

Tom looked mortified. “Fordy, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude … I just, you know …” 

The lad had gone scarlet and George wondered just why he was asking these questions.

“Have you got a girlfriend?”

Tom shook his head. “I’m too busy for that.”

George thought briefly that that was what they all said, but he just nodded. The lad would deal with it when he was ready if George’s suspicious were correct. And it occurred to him that he really did attract the oddballs and eccentrics. Maybe he was one himself …

“You two just seem so sorted and in control all the time …” Tom sounded faintly wistful.

“We have our moments,” said George, trying to ignore the flash of pain. He was trying to chalk up Owen’s bizarre behaviour to World Cup stress.

***

“You took one for the team,” said Owen, giving George’s arse a quick squeeze as they got into the lift to go downstairs for dinner.

Joe Marler coughed pointedly and raised a devilish eyebrow. Owen gave him the finger.

“How d’you mean?” asked George, digging his elbow into Owen’s ribs.

“Going to the cat cafe with young Tom.”

“It was fine. He enjoyed it.”

“And I bet you didn’t have to make much in the way of conversation,” said Joe, stabbing at the ground floor button with a meaty forefinger.

“Not until he started asking me about my sex life …” George burst out laughing as Owen went decidedly pink around the cheekbones.

“I’ll stake what reputation I don’t have on that lad being gay,” said Joe briskly.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said George. “He’ll deal with it when he’s ready.”

***

After dinner the players broke up into groups – chatting, gaming, watching films, and playing cards all seemed to be going on somewhere.

“Come up and see my etchings!” said Owen.

“Where’s Wils?”

“Off out with his family tonight.”

Owen seemed determined to focus solely on George’s pleasure. He undressed him, kissing seemingly every centimetre of George’s body as he did so. And then his strong hands massaged the aches and tension from George’s limbs. By then, George was putty in his hands.

“Love you so fucking much, our kid,” whispered Owen. “You do know that, don’t you?”

George cupped Owen’s face in his hands and kissed him. “Of course I do. Love you too.”

“Even though I’m a fuckwit sometimes?”

“Yes. But you’re my fuckwit!”

“I didn’t give him a mouthful, honest …”

“Yeah. But you answered my bloody phone when you could see it was him.”

“Yeah, I know …” Owen went quiet again. “Did he tell you what he said to me?”

“More or less.”

“He was wrong, though …” Owen entwined their fingers in a death grip.

“About what?” 

“I haven’t lobbied Eddie for the 10 shirt.”

“I know you haven’t.” George kissed Owen’s palm.

“And me dad’s never pulled any strings for me.”

“I know. And I’d say the opposite’s probably true.” They’d both had more than their fair share of nepotism accusations over the years.

“Yeah … Oh well, at least we don’t have to pretend to like each other any more.”

George rolled his eyes and stayed silent.

“Can I ask you something, though?”

“Yeah …” George was pretty sure he knew what was coming.

“Why are you so intrigued by him?”

“Why do I want to be friends with him, is that what you’re asking?”

Owen squirmed and tightened his grip on George’s hand. “Yeah, I suppose so …”

“You keep asking me this …”

“Yeah, I know …”

“I don’t know what else I can say. Like I’ve said before, he stood up for me when he needn’t have done. In fact, he’d have been better off keeping quiet, given Eddie’s views on him already. And since then he’s checked in with me regularly. I dunno, if it’s an act, he could have given up on it by now. And I suppose I want to give him a chance and see if the stories about him are true or not …”

There was silence. George sighed quietly and said: “Whatever it is, say it …”

“I’m gonna sound paranoid …”

“Say it.”

“I dunno, I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he’s doing it to get back at me somehow. You know, get his hands on something that’s mine, and break it, and then gloat about it. If he hurts you in any way, I’ll fucking kill him …”

There was a lot George could have said, but he decided to keep quiet for the time being, simply saying: “I can look after myself …”

“I know I’ve betrayed your trust, our kid. All I can do is promise that I’ll do every fucking thing I can to make you trust me again. You do believe me?”

George nodded and pulled Owen into his arms. And as always it felt like they fitted together like an elaborate jigsaw puzzle.

***

“Get your coat, you’ve pulled,” said Jamie, breezing into the team room.

“What?” George looked at him blankly. He’d been hunched over a laptop since lunch, poring over recordings of the All Blacks’ pool matches. Next to him Owen was scribbling frantically, muttering under his breath, barely decipherable notes and diagrams sprawling across the paper.

“We’re going out for coffee and you two are coming with us. You need a break.”

George started to argue, but Eddie materialised as if from nowhere, as he often did.

“Jamie’s right. A break’ll do you both some good and then you can come back fresh to it all later.”

George looked at Owen, who shrugged and then nodded. 

Elliot and Joe Launchbury were waiting for them in the foyer. Elliot, a total coffee freak, was bouncing impatiently. Joe gave George a rough hug.

“OK?”

George nodded and smiled, returning the hug. Joe was one of the good guys. He’d been the ultimate team man, despite not making the final 23, which made George feel even worse about his meltdown the previous week.

Japan had overloaded all of George’s senses. It seemed so strange, so alien. He occasionally felt guilty that he wasn’t seeing much of the country beyond coffee shops and restaurants, but he would then remind himself that he was there to do a job and he wasn’t being paid to swan around the city when they were facing the game of their lives at the weekend. He could come back and see it properly when there wasn’t a World Cup at stake. Maybe he and Owen could make it their honeymoon destination … Shit, he didn’t need to dwell on that at the moment, though.

***

Eddie surveyed the room with a benevolent smile. He’d just announced the 23 for the All Blacks clash, and George was back at 10. So it had been horses for courses the previous week. George, glad of his ability to put on a poker face, tried to damp down the excitement bubbling inside him. They had a bloody mountain to climb. But fuck, this was an exceptional squad, and if anyone could do it …

“Lads, I’ve just had a message from Steve Hansen. He’s assured me that there won’t be any crap from the religious lads in his team. He’s made it clear to them that they keep their views to themselves.” As usual, Eddie pulled no punches. He’d been as good as his word and had complained to World Rugby about the shit from the Aussies.

“Good,” said Owen.

George nodded in agreement, noticing that Billy was staring out of the window. Yeah, well, fuck him. He’d seen the statement from World Rugby and knew they couldn’t ask for more support from that quarter.

_A spokesman for World Rugby said: “We’re mindful of the fact that players are entitled to their religious beliefs, but these don’t excuse bigotry. We wouldn’t like to ban players from praying on the pitch after a match, but it’s something we will discuss if there’s a repeat of this unsavoury episode. World Rugby will not tolerate players being targeted because of their sexuality.”_

_England fly-half George Ford, who, together with his partner Owen Farrell, was the target of the protest, said: “People’s religious views should be a private thing, just as mine and Owen’s relationship is no one’s business but ours."_

***

“Fucking bastard dead leg,” said Owen through clenched teeth. “You kick.”

“OK.” He wasn’t going to suggest that Owen went off - that would be a waste of breath.

And then he was in the groove, playing as he – and others – knew he could, and putting paid to the debate as to why he’d been picked ahead of Cips. But George, completely focused on the game, had to look twice at the screens at the end to confirm that it wasn’t a dream. England had been relentless, disciplined and left the Kiwis, many of whom he and Owen had played against through the age group levels, looking shellshocked. 

But it was the hug that Owen gave him, and the occasional touching of their hands as they circled the ground to applaud the crowd, that brought home to George that they really had beaten the All Blacks to book a place in the final.


End file.
